Like a Bird

Whenever I am having a hard time, I sometimes imagine where I would venture to if I could go anywhere. Somehow I always end up in an airport amongst all the other possibilities. I have often wondered why an airport would be the one to bring me solace or comfort...
When I am watching that movie, you know the one that is created to make your heart long for something? Sometimes it is the movies about love, or even loss, and often times adventure. It is this epic story about finding something that is worth all these undignified actions. Well when I get to the" airport scene" of the movie my heart nestles in this place of amenity. Even as the characters are walking away from each other, I confusingly find a sort of solace in the scene. I find sometimes I even rewind and watch it again to enjoy every second of it.
I found myself in my beloved airports these past weeks, and as I walked through the terminal to my gate I felt the buzz of adventure and the tingle of nostalgia. It is an odd thing, standing in a room full of perfect strangers. Yet, somehow you all have the same intention that is a destination or concourse that you will all embark upon. All of us, like a flock of birds, are going somewhere.
I muse ideas of where the Amish looking couple sitting in front of me will be going. Newspapers expertly unfolded as if they were home in there small drawing room, as always. There was a sort of captivating essence about the make-up less face that the woman wore. Her stark white tresses pulled loosely back in a small bun at the nap of her neck, you know the kind you only see in prairie movies. Her husband in his itchy Grey woolen sweater had a fanny pack fastened safely around his middle. How perfect they looked on the orange padded chairs that we shared.
I wonder how it would feel to be a Nun, like the two sitting behind me. They sat laughing in their polyester and grey-blue head coverings complete with rosarys latched around their necks. One had a battered guitar case next to her, which made me think of Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music. I thought about the ugly dresses this Nun would wear if she hadn't decided to swim in her polyester and celibacy. Nuns are interesting, indeed, I would like to become acquainted with one someday.
As I stood to board, I noticed the guy in a black hoodie with two beautiful women standing on both sides of him. There was an impressively large trophy in the youngest girl's hands. 'World Champion' was etched on the plate of the glorious golden statue of a man with raised arms. The guy in his hoodie had scars on his face, and the women were all too beautiful. I understood his agitation and his emptiness. Even though the world declared him champion and he had two more beautiful trophies on his sides, he had a desperation in his eyes. I remember how it felt and I even felt it only briefly as he walked past me to his seat a few rows behind, girls giggling in there onomatopoeias.
There is a blond boy sitting on his papa's lap in the front left seat. He likes to look at me, and I give him a smile that says "we have a secret". He agrees to my proposal of friendship. He is maybe three years old, and I decided he would make a good "Connor" or maybe an "Emmit". We played face games for awhile, all the time his dad completely unaware of the social butterfly perched on his lap. Connor fell asleep looking at me. It was a sublime and perfect moment, one I hope never to forget.
I sit back as the plane takes off. Mr. married next to me grasps the arm rests as if they can save him from his undeniable queasiness. Later he asks if he can buy me a beer, and I reply "umm I'm 19, thanks though" The screen entertains us with a movie about a man with aspergers syndrome, and a beautiful woman that fall in love. Through their awkward romance yet strangely powerful with emotion and harmony, Mr. Married sits closer to me resting his arm against mine, no longer clutching his arm rest, but completely safe resting against me forgetting all about the turbulence. For a moment I didn't even notice, I was so caught up in the screen that displayed such beautiful and honest affection that I didn't even recognize the hazard and red lights that started flashing when his left hand rested on my wrist. As the credits scrolled towards the ceiling I looked down, and came to my senses, standing up with my seatbelt still on I acted like seabuscit in desprete need of the commode. Needless to say after that he kept to himself as did I.
Through all these, I still don't know why my heart longs for terminals and checked bags. I don't know if it is the adventure I long for, or the escape. I don't know if it is the love story locked away waiting just for me to step unto the screen, or the feeling I get in my chest as I fly with the sun. I don't know if it is the way my imagination gets drunk off of all the things and people my eyes drink in, or peeing 40,000 ft in the air. My heart is determined to live in a suitcase, and for now I will not object.